


Summits

by daniel_edwards



Category: The Vampire Diaries - L. J. Smith, Twilight Series - Stephenie Meyer
Genre: Crossover Pairings, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-07 00:09:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6775918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daniel_edwards/pseuds/daniel_edwards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Suspense and surprise are two things that consistently fill my life. Even if that surprise is death or war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own any of the Twilight characters or any of the characters belonging to the Vampire Diaries. Conversely, any character that has been added is of my own creation. The events and characters are fictitious and any resemblance to a real person, living or dead is purely coincidental.

Age is a thing I never kept up on. After countless years, our country had been at war with itself; and living under consent fear you forget to celebrate. I always wondered how people turn on each other. Friends, neighbors. Even in my young age, I understood the importance of words. Knowing It only takes a few speeches before people begin to turn one another. We were content and our land was green and fertile; giving life to a multitude of crops, an example would be the forest behind our house that we claimed as our garden; yards behind the burnt line of our back fence. Our house was humble and there were no extravagant items. We lead a simple and comfortable life. The day this was challenged, we didn't stand against the greater power. We obeyed. I wanted to stand up for what was right, a free country where it's citizens didn't have to fear its government. That's how the forest became is our hiding place. Dug out spaces behind oak trees gave us protection from gun fire and petrol bombs. Those where the favorite choses the rebels chose. Women would be raped in the street after their village was pillaged by men in masks. Stories spread, saying that they are heading to the eastern parts of the country. We lived in the east. The forest is the only thing that separates our country from the next. I always wondered what it would be like to live in the fields and trees only a few yards’ way. Before they came, things began to build. Not just at home and in our street, but also at school. We practiced fire drills and quick evacuations into a safe holding place. 

I remember that day. My mother had packed our clothes in to two small backpacks. One for me and one for her. "Ако успеем да отделят, не се притеснявайте. Ние ще намерите всяка друга." If we get separated, do not worry, we will find each other - she said. Her words echoing in my brain as she grabbed my hand, pulling me out of the house towards the forest. She stands there looking out across the tree trunks - squinting her eyes at times. Her face unreadable. Out of nowhere, there was a loud explosion behind us. I turned to look. Pain and death filled our village. People I had known for my entire life, ran erratically into the main road burning, screaming. It was in that moment we ran. Hand in hand we blindly ran into the tree line. The screams began to fade, but their ringing was ever constant. We stopped in one of the further ditches we had dug. This was my opportunity; "Мама, бяха вървим?" Mama, were are we going?  
До границата," To the border. she begins to say.

Gun fire ahead of us interrupts her. Shadows of people running through the forest to the border line suddenly fall to the ground; as if they were in some form of slow motion dance. They must have had the same idea. My mum whispers in my ear: "Поддържайки ниски" Stay low.

Confusion begins to cloud my mind for a split second before she pulls us out of the ditch; in a mad sprint towards the border. As I try to keep up, I watched intensely as yellow and orange lights began to flicker ahead of us. Gun fire. They had seen us and they wanted us dead. This thought played on my mind enough for my hand to slip out of my mothers. I could feel myself slow down. I stared, wide eyed, as she turned to grab my hand. I could hear her, Grab my hand! I wanted to comply, but something in me wasn't letting me: shock. It was in that moment her face turned from worry to pain. As if in slow motion I watch as she falls to her knees. Her mouth opens as if to scream as she falls.

"Оставете" Run, she says, pained, looking up at me. I stare, my body not functioning in this moment. I can feel my world turn upside down. The pain that rips through me never ends. She grabs me and pulls me close: "Оставете." Her last word before pushing me as I fall back into a ditch. Breathing loudly, I scramble back out of the forest - dodging any bullets I could. I ran through the back door of my house, straight through into the street. Seeing fire before me I run out into the huge swarm of orange heat that invades the village. I run on to the main road. To be greeted with a sight of death and pain. I scream in agony as a burning sensation rips through my core. The smell. That smell of burning flesh stings the hairs in nostrils. Tears clouded my eyes, they picked for release. I stood there with the heat on my face, tears falling down my face, waiting for my death.

I wake, in a cold sweet - breathing heavily.


	2. Chapter 2

I wake from two cold arms incasing my body. Soon after a draft follows, leading it's sickly sweet sent through my bedroom. Exhaling loudly, I lay still waiting for my heart rate to slow. After a few moments, a soft humming comes from behind me. I twist under the heavy arms to face my comforter. Rosalie - my adoptive mother. She's always wanted to have children, so when Carlisle turns up with me, she had first dibs. It would have been cruel if Bella and Edward had adopted me, they already have Rensemee, which, is a stupid name if you ask me. My thought is distracted by Rosalie's attempts to sooth the pain from my nightmare.  
"I'm not seven anymore." I say with a sigh of relief, when she releases me from her grasp. I take a moment, before swinging my legs over the side of the bed; throwing on a dressing robe before standing. Brushing my hand through my hair, I walk into the ensuite bathroom. I begin my morning routine with brushing my teeth. I like to wander around the bathroom when I do this, it's probably due to some psycho-issue I have with freedom...or something poetic like that. I look down at my feet, and I need a shave. I guess it's been longer than two days. 

Looking up from my feet and legs, I notice Rosalie stood in the door frame. Her face is unreadable.  
"We should talk about this." She says sympathetically. I look at her. I spit out the remaining tooth paste before wiping my mouth with the white flannel placed by the side of the tap. As I begin to walk out the door Rosalie blocks my path. Exhaling sharply, I turn to her, and say "There's nothing to talk about." She looks pained, if vampires can feel pain, at my misplaced trust in her. I take the opportunity to duck under her stone cold arm to grab a brush and detangle my hair. A sudden breeze comes from behind me.  
"Let me do that for you." She says softly. I hand the brush over to her and she begins to brush my hair. 

We stand in silence for a while, waiting for the other person to speak. Before I break the silence, Rosalie speaks.  
"The weather is supposed to be cloudy with a chance of rain today." So we are talking about the weather now, great.  
"I suppose it's just another, normal day in Forks then." I hear her exhale, indicating that she is smiling. Her brushing is oddly calming, or is that Jasper, whichever one it is I'm glad for it. It wouldn't be so long before I begin to replay my nightmare. Edward would not be happy with living in my past. He often asks me to stop thinking out certain things, like the brutal deaths a seven-year-old isn't supposed to be witnessed to. 

"When's school?" I ask. I don't want to think of my past.  
"Around two hours." Rosalie replies. Great, folks high, with Rensemee Cullen. I mean she's a pleasant girl and everything, but she boasts about how "My life is already planned out for me," or "I can just cut out the weird dates." She doesn't seem to grasp that life is fickle and it doesn't take much for it to be taken away. Then again, it could just be me. I was once like her, then everything just went wrong and I suppose that changes people. Maybe that's what annoys me. Maybe she is a consent reminder of my former self. My thoughts are cut off by Edward standing in the door way to my bedroom.  
"Katerina, would you stop thinking about my daughter like that?" His eyes are deep onyx - he's annoyed.  
"Sorry." I breath. Rosalie looks at her brother before looking back at me.  
"So. What are you going to wear?" 

I roll my eyes at the thought of going through the tedious process of changing, curling my mahogany hair and then eating when no one else in the house eats. That has to be the worst thing about living with vampires. I follow my routine and compete it with about forty-five minutes to spare. I walk down stairs to find the typical Cullen clan. Jasper and Emmett watching a baseball game, Alice looking through a fashion magazine, Rosalie filing her nails to perfection and Bella watching Edward play the piano. I stand at the base of the stares admiring them, their beauty, their serenity. It was in that moment when Rensemee and Jacob walked into the scene. Alice smiled in approval at the outfit she had put together. I didn't really approve, but everyone else was smiling so I forced a smile on my face. Edward looked in my direction - approving my falseness. Just then my stomach begins to make the sound of a whale dyeing.  
"Sorry." I excuse myself and slip into the kitchen, where Carlisle and Esme are talking. It's in these moments I wish I was a vampire - just for the super hearing. Carlisle looks at me and smiles at me sympathetically. I can tell he wants to say something, but is held back by something. I lean on the table waiting for his doctoral analysis. He sighs as though he has given up some internal argument with himself - Esme steps in.  
"We have all been talking and these nightmares have been going on since we saved you ten years ago." She stops to think about the wording of the next bit. This is where Carlisle steps in.  
"So, if you are up for it, I would like to try giving you dopamine tablets. Just to see if it lessens the nightmares." He stares waiting for a reply. My initial thought was no. I don't want to forget; I don't want the pain to go way. I, that, feel if it does, then it wouldn't be real anymore. My mother would become Rosalie and I wasn't about to let that happen. But then, it would be nice to feel normal, whatever normal is anymore.  
"I'll take it." I respond strongly. I feel a slight breeze on the back of my neck as Rosalie zooms into the kitchen at vampire speed.  
"You don't have to do this, Katerina." She says affectionately. Now I am definitely taking the drug. I turn to face her, as I say;  
"You're not my mother." I could feel the regret in my stomach build, but then decrease. I was right after all. I take the cup of water in my right and grab the small white pill in my left.  
"Дъна нагоре" (Bottoms up) is all I say before taking the pill and swallowing the accompanying water.


	3. Chapter 3

Just as I thought, the pill did nothing. I didn’t feel any different. I was still me and pessimistic as always. I suppose having the miracle child sat next to you, fixing her lipstick whilst driving, does nothing for anyone’s mood. I sat with my knees pulled close to my chest looking out of the passenger’s window; waiting for her words of wisdom. Trees flew past us as Renesmee drives at a mediocre speed – after Emmett has driven you around, you’ll understand that nothing can compare to his speed. I hear the click of her lipstick. Out of the corner of my eye she places it in one of the cup holders that separate us. She looks at me twice, her eyes looking me up and down before she returns to driving. “You should put your seat belt on you know.” She states. I roll my eyes. Trust Renesmee Cullen to point out the obvious. “I’m fine.” Is all I can muster to say. I don’t take my eyes off the scenery that is: Forks. Like very day, it’s misty and grey. The gloomy atmosphere that the weather creates nearly every day as always been a sad inside joke of mine. I feel the sides of my lips twitch up a little at the pathetic fallacy.

“Is that a smile I see?” Renesmee chirps up from the driver’s side. “Those pills must be working.” She says to herself. It was clearly a thought she accidently said aloud. She scrunches her face to internally slap herself as I turn to face her – blankly. I open my mouth to ask how she knows, but my intelligence gets the better of me. “Vampire hearing.” I all I say. Another reason to hate living with vampires – there is no such thing as privacy. Not even when I need to, you know. Masturbate – that’s always a tricky thing to do. Having to make sure that they go out hunting and then not trying to make any noise. My life is cursed in more way than one.

Renesmee pulls up into her usual parking space, third gap to the right hand side, next to the main entrance. I step out the car and look at the woodland area surrounding the high school. It’s a poetic notion: having a symbolic area of defiance and rebellion surrounding a place that imposes social norms and morals into the young. My gaze shifts to an unfamiliar face. The male looks back at me quizzically; as if he knows me. Renesmee interrupts my line of sight as she says, “What do you have first period?” I look at her and regain focus. “History.” I state and she rolls her eyes in response. “Did you have to choose a depressing subject?” She says linking our arms together. I look back at the male figure who still stands staring at me. I turn my head and feel my curls bounce slightly. I manage to release my arm from Renesmee’s as I feel the stranger’s eyes burn into the back of my head. “Russian history is, interesting.” I say, suddenly responding to her comment. My delay and the pause would have certainly have been awarded a victorious smile from Renesmee. She has a thing about me not being able to fire back a witty remark. She smirks before waving at one of her friends. She turns back to me and says, “Smile. You might make friends this semester.” I smile falsely. Just when I thought her presence was irritable enough.

I watch her walk away with her friends before turning to walk down the corridor to my right. Opening my locker door, I sigh, placing my Literature anthology away. I reach to grab my Russian History Text book, when a someone opens the locker next to me. I know that seems like a normal thing, but no has used that locker for the past two years. I shrug off the strange feeling I have by visibly hunching my shoulders up whilst slightly shaking.

Taking off my shoulder bag I try to squash the bag above the several books resting listlessly against the metal walls of the locker. My attempts only fail me. I am about to try one last time when a voice beside me says, “There’s room in my locker.” The voice is lyrical, soft and harmonic. I close my eyes to savor the sound if only for a second. Popping my head around my locker door I see the man from the parking lot stood looking into my eyes.

He really is handsome. I mean, his brown hair and green eyes. His strong facial features, like his jaw line. I find myself absorbing all of his features, studying his face slowly going to down to his lips. I can feel my mouth begin to salivate. It’s those plump wet lips, pink like a peach - I can’t believe I just thought that. He notices my infatuation. “Sorry,” I hear myself saying, “I don’t know you. You could be a killer or something.” I try to sound enthusiastic, but my nightmare has exhausted me. However, he smiles and breaths a small laugh. I bite my lip nervously. His smile turns into a smirk, only slightly and nothing pompous or arrogant. “My name’s Stefan Salvatore.” He says indicating for me to give my name. “Katerina Petrova.” I say, instantaneously noticing I gave my birth name instead of my adoptive name. A mental kick for me. I come out from behind my locker and say, “You can just call me Katherine.” He extends his hand and I take it. His hand was warm and ruff. There was a small electric sensation that coursed through my entire body – I’ll put it down to the fact that he isn’t a cold bodied vampire.

“So now that we know each other, do you trust me enough to put your bag in my locker?” He seems sincere enough. I go along with the question and place my bag in Stefan’s locker. He curtly moves away from his locker – giving me enough space to access his locker. Walking into his space, a waft of his aftershave hits me like a tsunami. It’s spicy, sharp and masculine. I exhale deeply, and then inhale just as deeply to compensate for the irregular breathing pattern. “Thanks.” I breath. He stares at me for a moment. His eyes are soft and welcoming, as if welcoming an old friend. Suddenly he says, “Sorry, you just remind me of an old friend.” The space between us suddenly became hostile and dry. He closes his locker down before courteously leading me to my lesson, which is Russian History. The winding corridors allow us time to get to know each other.

“So,” Stefan starts, “where are you from?” I look up to him perplexed. No one has ever picked up on my nationality or even recognised that I am not a true American citizen. Stefan seems unaware of his bluntness as he continues to focus on where he is walking. I turn my head to copy on his focus of the corridor ahead. I hear myself saying, “Amer-,” I start, but then I begin to consider telling the truth, “Bulgaria.” Stating my true nationality makes me feel vulnerable - and I don’t like it. Stefan interrupts my thoughts, “I thought I could hear an accent.” He smiles. We continue to talk about our family and how his family name is one of the founding fathers of Mystic Falls, Virginia.

He’s interesting, funny and very good looking. At my height of five foot six, he resembles a large muscular giant. When I say muscular, I mean muscular. ‘OMG’ I shit the bed lads; I kid you not. He looks a poster boy for Abercrombie and Fitch. I only know that name because of Rosalie and Alice – nothing to do with my poor taste in fashion. His hair is perfect in a little hero quiff, that only brings out the rest of his strong facial features. I suddenly become aware of my salivating mouth. I swallow. Hard. “Well this is me. Russian History.” I smile and extend my hand as a means of good bye; I expect him to take it and say ‘see you at lunch.’ But he doesn’t. He only smiles, bringing an audible amuse sound to his lips. “Looks like we have the same class this morning. What a coincidence.” He states as he walks into the classroom books in hand. I watch him walk to Mr. Hughes; biting my lip intensely. It got to a point where I would sense the blood rise to my skin as though ready for release. I stop. “Coincidence” I say under my breath as I walk to take my seat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you have enjoyed this Fanfiction so far. I hope to be more consistent with updating. Please comment and give Kudos if deserved. 
> 
> Thank you!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In no way is this chapter intended or directed to dehumanise, subject or discriminate amongst a specific culture or a citizen of a specific country. The events written about are purely fictional and any resemblance to real life events is purely coincidence and should not be taken as a literal source of History. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy.

Ms. Green, a middle aged madly obsessed cat woman, who has a permanent scowl placed below her bird’s nest of a hair do, enters the classroom in her usual bad temper. She doesn’t look at the class, nor does she attempt to silence the small rowdy group in to back corner of the class. She simply enters, places her bag on her table and begins to write on the blackboard: Russia and Bulgaria: A History. My nerves hit their peak. I bow my head as Ms. Green begins, “In very recent history, only ten years ago, Russian states attempted to annex specific cities and villages in Bulgaria…” I begin to zone out and focus on the vomitus feeling forming in my stomach. Supressing my churning stomach, all the hatred and anger comes to me in emotional waves. The feeling of being surrounded by treacherous waters and high waves is my only visual representation. My breathing becomes laboured as the events of that night flood my mind. The happy memories of my mother and I, shopping for bread. Collecting milk from the farm down the road. Exploring the stream that ran through the Forest. Everything single notion of my mother enters my mind. Supressing the tears that are beginning to form, I catch the last sentence of Ms. Green, “Thankfully the Gabrovo Province was not majorly harmed and, thankfully, all of its towns people survived.”

That’s when the memory I have suppressed since I escaped Bulgaria came back to me. Walking back our little white house on the corner of the road to find the roof collapsed, the upper floor completely diminished. The lower floor had cracks on the outside, but it did well to hide the monstrosities inside. My whole family: Lucas, my brother, Petra, my older sister and my papa – dead. Each one laid differently. Lucas laid face down on his train set, Petra crushed when trying on traditional clothing, and my papa – sitting against a wall, his eyes white his body limp. That was the night they returned – for us.

“You’re wrong.” I find myself saying plainly. “Yes, Miss Hale, do you have something to comment?” Ms. Green snaps as she hears my introduction. Looking up from my desk, I can’t help but notice the whole class staring at me. I glance over to Stefan. He’s staring at me in what I think is admiration, but it could be confusion – I’m not sure. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a Ms. Green waiting for a response. I focus on her tatty head and plainly say, “You’re wrong.” I stop. She looks unimpressed, but instead of backing down something in me wants to speak the truth. So I blink away the forming tears and take a stand – metaphorically speaking not literally, that would be embarrassing. “347 civilians died as a result of the tragedy, as well as the countless soldiers who tried to defend their home country.” I say confidently – I mean I should be, I was there. Ms. Green only smirks and everyone’s head in the class turns to her. “Miss Hale, if you had been paying attention you would have heard me say that no civilians were harmed.” Everyone’s head turns back to me. “No, they weren’t harmed, they were massacred. Unjustly killed.” My blood is beginning to boil. Like the chain reaction unfolding, everyone’s heads turn back to Ms. Green. “Miss Hale, I don’t understand how you suddenly have knowledge of this subject. I let your insolence off last year for obvious reasons,” small dig at my mental health, “but that excuse ended a semester ago. Now I suggest you open your book and look up the truth.” I’ve skipped a whole level of anger and gone straight to frustration. The tears are back and pricking for release. “History is written by the victors, Ms. Green.”

Penny in the air.

“That may be true, Miss Hale, but you don’t have any proof to support your claims.” I hate this pretentious, alcoholic, sad excuse for a teacher. “Turn to page 364.” She continues as she turns around to write lies on the black board. “Yes I do.” I say quietly. Stefan looks my way as if he has finally clicked on my life secret. “Oh, really Miss Hale. Please enlighten me.” Ms. Green put on an over-exaggerated bored tone in her voice as she continues to write lies. With a deep breath I consider to reveal my deepest hidden truth. “I was there.”

The penny drops, and so does the loneliness.

I can’t contain them anymore. I let the tears flow as I stand up to excuse myself. Stefan stands abruptly as if to say something. But before he can, the bored voice of Ms Green pipes up, “Anything to add, Mr Salvatore?” He replies with a no. I apologise grabbing my books before leaving for the toilets. 


	5. Chapter 5

I think I have sat on this plastic toilet seat for about half an hour now. My head rests against the toilet paper holder listlessly. My eyes are dry and probably puffed up, swollen. I decided to finally open the toilet door to sort out my face. Splashes of water is all I need. Opening the door, I keep my face to the floor not wanting to be noticed by any of the girls that may be lingering.      This is probably the best time to mention that ignorance is my main source of frustration. For me, frustration builds within me like a house of fire, only the fire is a metaphor for my emotions and probably a connotation of the rapid process that I become overwhelmed with emotion. Subsequently, resulting in tears.

Splashing my face with water I hear the giggle of a group of girls walk out of the disabled stall. They weren’t fazed by my presence – they probably didn’t notice I was even there. A knot twists itself into an even more intricate shape in my stomach; that would be the feeling of loneliness. As the door closes silence begins to fill the toilets and I feel ever more alone. A realistic, tangible notion of loneliness.

I splash my face once again with water before grabbing the paper towels. It is in this moment that my subconscious warns me of the presence behind me. I slow down my movements, but having my eyes closed I decide to quickly grab the paper and wipe my eyes dry. I snap my head to the mirror.

There’s no one there. I turn. And Stefan’s stood behind me.

I exhale loudly – startled. He stands with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the light pink wall – note to self: mention the subtle gender specific colour. He wears a sympathetic smile and those green eyes hold sorrow. I close my eyes and notice, “Why are you in the girl’s toilets?” I asked not fazed. He looks down to stand on his feet and takes a step towards me. “I,” he looks at me as he thinks, “I wanted to check on you.” My heart skips a beat. Flustered at his attempt at kindness I smile briefly. I note my own posture and how the it contrasts to his. Leaning against the sink with both hands, which are clammy – how attractive, clutching on to the edge of the basin. My shoulders hunched and my eye contact fluctuating between his green eyes and my shoes. The one knee that’s bent begins to shake…the perfect image of sexiness and confidence.

“Are you?” Stefan says grabbing my attention. My eyes are brought to his. I can’t help but to let out a gasp has I notice that the space between us has decreased in size. I’m not uneasy about it. It just makes me more flustered, which also isn’t an attractive aspect to portray. I close my eyes as I manage to say, “I’m okay, good even.” “Who are you trying to convince me or you?” He asks – I never was good at lying. I sigh as I open my eyes to look him straight in those perfect earthy, green eyes of his and focus on trying to sound as confident as possible. “I’m fine.” Stefan looks unconvinced but he doesn’t ask me anymore questions. Instead he just sits on the floor and gesture me to do the same.

Now. However strange it may seem for me to sit next to a male stranger on the floor of the girl’s toilets, it is an oddly peaceful and a compassionate notion. Stefan pats the floor next to him, smiling doing so. Okay. So maybe the peaceful and compassionate notion was my own delusional mind and it is just weird to sit next to a stranger – in the girl’s toilets. Never the less I follow; slouching against the wall.

“So,” He begins as I bring my knees to my chests, “Do you want to talk about it?” Typical. I walk away from my problems only for them to be confronted to me by the most attractive man I have ever seen, which says a lot considering the Cullen’s undoubtable beauty. I can feel Stefan staring at me with patience as I focus on the sinks opposite us. If I was sat on a chair my right leg would begin to shake uncontrollably. “Look,” I begin to say as I turn to face him, “I know you have my best interests at heart, but in all seriousness I’m okay.” He doesn’t look satisfied with my answer. I start concurring my next answer. All I can think about is how I have focused on loneliness throughout my entire life. I chose books that where discussed loneliness as a literature feature, I chose to relive past memories. Suddenly it dawned on me.

I chose to be alone.

My mouth opens as my face begins to relax. “Hey.” Stefan says and his soft hands cup my chin, forcing me to look at him. His sincerity, his longing, his hurt, his loneliness. In that moment, my water works are switch on to full. He embraces me and I don’t feel lonely anymore. “You feel it to.” I state between sobs. I feel him nod against my shoulder. Taking a deep breath, I pull away think how embarrassing it would be if a teacher walked in on us…or worse – Renesmee.

We both decided to stand, not wanting to wait for someone to enter the bathroom. I breath a smile at him as I run my hand through my hair. Unconsciously, we both take a step to each other. Fluttering begins to start in my stomach, it’s nice to have the anxious butterfly feel that everyone else has. He embraces me again, pulling his head away after a few seconds. He cups my face in his hand. For a lonely Bulgarian girl, who felt lonely and unwanted in the past few years in her life, this was a surreal and fast paced moment. I wanted to comment or say something, but all I could form was;

“Stefan.” with an absolute tone of longing, which Stefan matched in his reply:

“Elena.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took so long to upload, but I was on and off on this chapter trying to find the best cliff hanger for the next chapter. I hope you enjoy and continue to read. 
> 
> Daniel


	6. Chapter 6

“Elena?” I ask, my voice covered in disbelief and annoyance, whilst my eye brows furrowed and knitted together making the perfect picture of confusion. Stefan stands here in silence for a few moments – probably thinking of something endearing to say about his mistake. Those butterflies have now turned into a pack of wolves biting and snarling their way out of my stomach. I want to vomit. I thought that Stefan would have at least have remembered me real name. Feeling the air drain itself from my lungs and disappearing into the air, I turn to walk away. Stefan grabs my arm; the burning sensation is there, but it hurts too much – like his touch burns my skin.

I internally roll my eyes at the dramatic thought.

As I am stood there waiting to leave thinking my life couldn’t get any worse, it does. Renesmee walks in the toilets – make up bag in hand – and trots to mirrors. At first I think she hasn’t noticed us, but of course she has, she wouldn’t have pushed past me if she hadn’t. I glance as she fixes her lipstick and checks on her highlighter (just to let you know; she looks like a fucking light bulb).

“I think you should leave.” I state dryly. Stefan looks between me and Rensemee and then back to me. Then back to Renesmee; and then back to me. I scream in anger – internally of course. He releases my arm and leaves, not glancing back. As the door to the toilet closes I clasp my arm and bring it to my chest. I turn to see Rensemee looking at me smugly. I can’t be dealing with her right now. She looks me up and down, her hand supports her body weight as she leans against the sink. Her other hand resting on her hip with absolute sass. Her facial expression just shouts ‘Tell me.’ “What?” I find myself saying whilst scrunching my face in recognition of her obnoxious posture. She rolls her eyes – sighing heavily and proceeds to walk into my personal space. My spatial boundaries differ for each person and for Renesmee it’s quite wide and sparse; like the trust I place in her.

“How do you know Stefan Salvatore?” She asks, her voice full of sarcasm and irritability, her two drives as a person. I think about my response almost weighing up the advantages and disadvantages in placing trust in Renesmee, but like I said my trust in her is far-fetched and sparse. She continues to wait with her arms folded on top of each other. I manage to suck some air through my teeth and say, “What does it matter to you anyway?” Instantaneously she responds,

“He’s only the most handsome and single bachelor in Forks,” I can almost taste Edward’s influence on her, “I don’t know how you got your claws so deep into him anyway. You’re not exactly the most talkative, nor are you the most attractive person to be around.” I stand in front of her, my face showing no expression I was, for the first time, expressionless. I revealed in the power it gave me. She has no idea that I am currently imagining a lovely autumn evening, sat in the back garden; well-lit by fairy lights as I gauge her eyeballs out with a spoon. Surprisingly, it gives me comfort.

My thoughts are interrupted by her consistent voluble chattering. I close my eyes and interrupt her mid-sentence. “Maybe the reason people don’t stay close to you is because of your inhuman capacity to empathise and listen.” I stop myself before I can go further, recognising the malice tone that drives my voice. Renesmee looks shocked, her mouth slightly hanging open. Out of the pure fact that it would amuse me, I lean forward and place my fingers on her chin, then continue to push her gaping mouth. The muscles in her face begin to tighten, creating a puzzled and perplexed complexion. I couldn’t help but breath an amused sound, as she tries to find cleaver response. She didn’t, she couldn’t. Internally I was rejoicing in competition of one of my life’s ambitions: shut down Rensemee Cullen.

Everything after that moment happened in a blur. I left her stunned. The rest of the day followed suit. I didn’t return to History, in fact just after I left the bell sounded – saving me from the embarrassment. English entails half the class failing at reading Shakespeare’s: The Merchant of Venice, followed by Italian Class which produces ill accents and mispronunciations. Religious Education is mostly me debating with the class Christians who have a heavily belief system. Lunch was then taken up by fighting for a seat with a bunch of children who remind me of little germ bags. Physical education then followed with Netball, and believe me I am not the best player (actually I’m shite.)

The ride home with Renesmee was awkward, and I knew she would tell Edward.


End file.
